Hunter
by All-For-Szmanda
Summary: Simple oneshot I wrote of what life is like during the apocalypse in Left 4 Dead, through a Hunter's 'eyes.' Even though he doesn't have them.


**A/N: I was playing Left 4 Dead all night and felt inspired to write this, so enjoy and REVIEW!**

I was always a believer. I didn't believe in Heaven or Hell, but I would believe urban legends or myths. I always believed the apocalypse would come. I knew it. But I never thought it would turn out like this.

I am infected. I've caught the Green Flu. I can remember it was if it happened just a few minutes ago. The feel of someone clawing your skin to shreds and ripping your eyes right out of their sockets is a pain you never forget. Imagine getting a papercut across the soft coating of your pupils and going completely blind. Not try try to imagine that, plus the pain of your eye getting torn out by dirty nails right after. The worst part is you don't die. You have to deal with the searing pain for the rest of your life.

The transformation was even worse. I swore I was going to die. How could there be a god allowing this to happen to me, an innocent 19 year old boy? There couldn't be. My entire body was numb. I almost was relieved my limbs were dying, in hopes I could go next. To be free of this cruelty. I went to sleep, and woke up three hours later. I soon took the hint I'd be stuck like this for the rest of my life. And unless there's survivors somewhere, who knows how long my life'll be?

I had given up. The pain was just too much for me to handle. I had found bandages- or socks- I couldn't see _what_ I was grabbing, and wrapped my arms and legs with them. I managed to get my hood over my eyes. No one deserved to see what has happened to me.

Then the cravings began. My sense of smell, touch, and sound had increased along with the transformation. I would eat raw hamburger meat straight from my fridge without hesitation. Of course, my supply was limited. One day after I tried to starve myself to death, and that was frankly impossible too, I headed out. I'd stuff my face. Today I would feast on dog meat, bunnies, squirrels, and bodies sprawled around town. I'd hide away in a bush in the shadows, and when I saw prey, I'd pounce. I let out a shriek every time, from pain by making the muscles in my arms and legs work so toughly. There were other infected around, from what I've seen before the tragedy struck myself. One that has a stench like no other in his bile. It attracts zombies for miles around. And there were some who had these bulges on their face, and a tongue at least 100 feet long. I'm still trying to figure _that_ mutation out. And there were man others like me. Every now and then, you see a woman. She stays on the ground and cries. And cries and cries. I understand why she does, though. She's not fully mutated yet. It's such a horrible, miserable process. And everyone knew one thing; do not disturb her. There was one more, but you rarely saw them around. They're HUGE. And muscley! I bumped into one once and was thrown into a-whole-nother area. They were insane.

I had always figured I'd be the one killing the zombies, not an actual undead. Video games have taught me a lot of tactics on guns, never how to claw someone's eyes out and gnaw at their flesh.

I heard voices. In the distance. They had sounded about 250 feet away. 3 men, 1 young woman. Survivors! The blood coursed through my rotting veins. I snarled and growled excitedly. Tonight I feast. The voices grew louder. I crouched lower. Someone shot. The sound was coming from my favorite, yet the most dangerous gun, an assault rifle. That's the gun I always use in Call of Duty. It can do some serious damage, easily killing someone. Those memories made me hesitant. Am I ready to jeopardize my life for some fresh grub? Will the risk be worth it?

Yes.

I was starving. I crouched my legs low, readied myself, and jumped out of the trees. A loud crash echoed through the forest with my yelp of pain. "Get it off me!" the young woman screamed, horrified. I tore away at her skin furiously, gnawing at the soft, warm flesh. She was completely helpless. She yanked at my arms, but it was worthless. I was too strong.

Suddenly, out of the blue, there was a sharp pain in my back. I squealed. Two more bullets to my head and I was gone. Dead.

"Zoey, heal up."

"Good idea, Francis." She taped her wounds up and they continued on their journey.

At least they had the ability to _see_ what lies ahead.


End file.
